


It was all reduced to rubble and then again to ash

by but the story is this (orphan_account)



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Feels, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Sad Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:41:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22204276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/but%20the%20story%20is%20this
Summary: Bereaved: 1. (adj.) sorrowful through loss or deprivation.2. (n.) a person who has suffered the death of someone they loved.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 3
Kudos: 164





	It was all reduced to rubble and then again to ash

**Author's Note:**

> Please don't kill me.

Geralt had never seen so much blood come out of a human, not in a spray like that. Jaskier fell to his knees and Geralt could see the very light of his eyes fade.

“NO!” he roared before descending on the bandits. He barely remembered the resulting bloodbath or carefully picking up Jaskier’s body and cradling it to his chest. The next thing he was aware of was Roach nosing through his hair. The sun had come up at this point and was hanging high in the sky. How long had it been since his bard’s body had grown cold? How long had he sat there grieving? Witchers weren’t supposed to have feelings or emotions. Weren’t supposed to fall in love and be happy. Maybe this was why. Because all he could feel now was a cold, bitter hatred.

Because his bard was dead.

His bard was _dead_ and Geralt had never told him how much he loved him. Never told the human how much the songs he sang made him feel treasured. How the fact that Jaskier’s lack of fear made him feel wanted. How the way he always filled the silence made Geralt not feel so alone. 

_Love_ , a little voice in the back of his head whispered. That treacherous voice that had laid silent for far too long, the little bit of humanity that Geralt had clung to since he had become a Witcher. Geralt slowly rose to his feet and started walking towards the next town. Before he reached it he found a field of dandelions, the soft yellow flowers bobbing in the breeze. Gently he laid his bard’s body down and started to dig. Once the grave was deep enough that nothing would ever disturb his bard again, he laid the body down and started to cover it. A crowd had gathered in the distance and Geralt approached them carefully.

“How much to buy this field,” he asked his voice raw with unshed tears. A old man stepped forward

“Take it Witcher, it’s yours,” the man said. Geralt nodded and returned to his bard’s grave, sitting down beside it and slowly picking some of the yellow flowers that surrounded it. Clumsily, he started to weave a flower crown, basing it off of his few memories of a woman teaching him the steps. He set it down where the gravestone would go.

“I love you Jaskier, I love you.”


End file.
